Ringlet

The large white, in perpetual motion, skims

Edgily across the falling roses;

The ringlet stands upon a privet leaf

Static as if dead, then springs away.

Taunted into action by the white

They spiral up towards the holly tree

'til both are lost from sight beyond the beach

And solitude descends on me again,

Inertia pins me to this seat, while they

Seem triggered by a sense of purpose I

Should feel but don't, relapsing into silence

And a void suppressing all creative thought.

          Day by day the garden waits for me

          But my mind does not want me to be free.

Brian Hick

©copyright Sally Hick 7.10.22